


and as always: good night, skyhold

by sighless



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Autistic, Autistic Carlos, Autistic Cole, Bad Flirting, Canon Queer Character, Canon Queer Character of Color, Crossover, Disabled Character, Fluff, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Multi, Nonbinary Character, Party Banter, Rift, Time is Weird
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-10 10:51:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4388963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sighless/pseuds/sighless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The gang heads out to the Western Approach to map the area, pick up shards, and secretly steal all the dirt (hidden in their pants, of course). Cole hears the thoughts of a lost soul and drags everyone out to help them, meeting a woman who tells them about a possible fade rift looming over a city of researchers in the distance. </p><p>Adaar and Bull have their horns groped for samples by a team of scientists, Cole and Carlos enjoy the company of someone who rocks their body and speaks as oddly as they do, and Dorian has a discussion with someone who sympathizes with his uneasiness at being openly gay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. exfoliate with a sandstorm, or: cole has no tact

**Author's Note:**

> This is something I've wanted to write for a while, but struggled to start. Hopefully it reads well!

  
"It's . . . _big_."

  
Adaar closed his eyes gently, a small smile stretching across his face. "Yes, I gathered that, thank you."

  
The frail rogue began to rattle off the innermost thoughts of the sand around them, none of which pointed to its fascination with parts of Dorian he had no idea sand could even get into. The party had been in the Western Approach for days, almost a week now. Insisting on clawing his way up every steep hill, the Inquisitor had found a few more shards to unlock the doors in a temple they had only actually been to once.

  
Why an ancient temple needed _so many damned keys_ was beyond Dorian. As the wind picked up, a mound of dust began to push the rest of the sand deeper into every crevice and fold of his body. " _Southerners_! Even your deserts are cold, and half of it is trying to relocate into my smallclothes."

  
Somewhere behind him, the Iron Bull chuckled. "I thought you like all that gritty shit on your face? Scrapes off the rough parts, leaves you all smooth."

  
"How _dare_ you compare my skincare regimen to rubbing dirt on one's face!" the necromancer looked over his shoulder with an exagerated glare. "I suppose you wouldn't understand, though. One of life's finer things."

  
His massive shoulders shook with quiet laughter, but he merely shook his head, not bothering with a response.

  
The dust was picking up more, whirling about them, preparing for a storm. The mountains ahead seemed to get higher with each step, their bright blood red staining white-gold giving them an almost royal look in the expanse of the desert. The Inquisitor leaned against his staff, which only made it sink further into the ground with his weight. Cole had faded out into the nearly transparent greenish form he took on at times, hovering forward without a sound.

  
A coughing fit ripped through Dorian's chest and up his throat. He slowed. Suddenly, Bull caught up with him, thumping the mage's back roughly.

  
"Are you _trying_ \--" another bit of hacking coughs, "--to break my spine?"

"Of course not, 'Vint. That'd ruin the fun."

  
Adaar looked back at them, frowning, "Just a bit further. I think I see a good place to set up camp."

  
"Camp," Cole's eyes lit up as he burst back into a more human form. " _They left me here, which way? Sun sets in the west, which way is south, why did they leave? Should have brought a compass_."

  
"You _broke_ him," Dorian mumbled, brows knit in worry.

  
"You okay, kid? Is someone here?"

  
"Have to find camp, can't go home yet, they'll be mad," the rogue paused for a moment, seeming startled, but with a sure motion pointed in the direction they were moving in. "There. She's lost, she needs help."

  
Following Cole's gaze, despite it ripping straight across Thedas, Adaar nodded. His curled, ram-like horns made the simple movement almost as theatrical as Dorian's expressions and scoffs. Though they'd run into a few walls, at this point the rogue could be certain that the majority of the time he wanted to rush to someone's aid, the Inquisitor would be right behind him, from everything to mundane requests for elfroot to someone seeking vengeance for the murders of their family.

  
The sandstorm shoved them forward. Even Bull and Adaar were nearly tossed over like horned rag dolls. Cole pulled himself up ahead of the group, never slowing his pace or faltering in his determined look. The party stopped only to carve out a spot for camp, pitching tents and rushing out to call a few scouts to keep watch. Dorian rushed into his and the Bull's tent, unbuckling a few straps to pour out mounds of dust from his robe and trousers. He exited the tent, twisting one end of his mustache to pull the dirt from it. Bull was leaning on his maul in the middle of camp, bending his knee to shake out the ache built up from the trek. One of the scouts was giving Adaar a report, and bless him, he was doing his very best to listen while Cole nudged him repeatedly, hissing increasingly fretful words that no one was entirely sure came from his own mind or that of the woman they were trying to find.

  
Stocking up on a few more potions (Adaar insisted on bringing a small medical kit of balms and bandages as well, in case this person was injured), they set out again, backs to the angry heat of the sun.

  
Breaking the horizon soared a figure who could nearly rival a mountain. It spun around, showing off twisting horns that could have ripped open clouds and torn down the sky. Simultaneously, the mages both pulled out their staffs and charged fire and lightning magics through the crystals, only barely calming when Cole shook his head aggressively. The Bull's fingers twitched against the tip of his weapon.

  
It turned again, face blank but for a pair of blinking eyes. Not quite large enough to be one of the giants they had fought time and time again, but much larger than any of the Qunari Dorian had ever seen.

  
"Her," Cole's whisper was nearly reverent, and the others looked at him with confusion. He inhaled, then bellowed louder than anyone knew his lungs could manage. " _Hello! My name is Cole_ \--"

  
Dorian nearly tackled the boy to cover his mouth, panic rising to levels he hadn't felt in years, not even when seeing his companions nearly killed. Which was probably how this was going to end, given how the beast was now looking down towards them, making her way with an earth-shaking stride.

  
As she closed in on them, hand at a sword on her hip, he noticed that strapped across her face was a large wooden mask. It probably took a whole forest to carve, painted with a blue-green pattern similar to the poison that Bull and Adaar insisted on smearing across their faces each morning. This paint had a more intricate Dalish style in its patterns, but still unique.

  
"I am Cole!" the boy tried again. "I want to help!"

  
Her hand left the hilt of the sword slowly, but the mages kept their crystals charged. Adaar took his flame down only slightly, eyeing the woman with suspicion.

  
"I'm Joy." Her voice was loud, but light, with the same gentle edge Adaar had to all his movements, as if to even out how terrifyingly large and sharp she was.

  
"Really?" Cole squinted, eyeing her. "Did you help someone like I did? I knew Joy once, but it didn't look like you--"

  
"Cole, I don't think this-- this person is a spirit like you," the Inquisitor said.

  
"What?" she replied, then shook her head. "Um, nevermind, _no_. Can you tell me which way south is? I'm not so good with directions."

  
With a quick glance to the sky, Dorian held his staff out. "It would be wise to lay something down, or draw an arrow in the ground in case you need to stop to catch your breath."

  
"Oh gosh, that's a good idea, actually."

  
"Most of mine are," the man shrugged. "What are you doing this far out?"

  
"I was going to ask you all the same..."

  
The Inquisitor jumped in here, putting his staff back in its strap over his shoulder. "He asked first."

  
"Fair," she grinned, though this was only visible in her eyes, her mouth painted over with swirls of sapphire on wood. "I'm scouting. My watch time is nearly over, though, and I need to be getting back to camp."

  
Bull stepped closer, apparently deciding this woman was no threat, joining Dorian's side next to Cole so the four stood in a semicircle in front of the masked giant. He asked, "Who are your soldiers protecting?"

  
She flinched, eyeing him with bemusement, but avoided the obvious question of how he knew her occupation. Dorian supposed the man's spying abilities were unnerving to those unused to it -- hell, it still freaked him out a little. "Now, we're protecting this city. A group of researchers moved in."

  
Dorian groaned. " _Please_ tell me they're not researching dragons. I'm so tired of dragons."

  
"Heh, no, but they probably would if they could find any."

  
This led to more strangled groans of exasperation and disgust while the necromancer rolled his eyes just barely hard enough to fall out.

  
She continued, "Mostly they're concerned with these weird lights in the sky."

  
Bull's eyebrow twitched up. "Another rift, boss?"

  
"Worth looking into. Where is this city?"

  
The woman pointed slightly north of where they were headed, then asked Dorian again for the direction of her camp. She waved to them, unsheathing her sword when she left, eyes scanning the expanse of the desert. The Inquisition party began in the direction of the city, though the fog of dust made it hard to make out any indication there really was one. They pushed against the current of sand.

  
Cole finally broke the silence. "She was very large."

  
Bull laughed first, a startled bark of a sound, and through a giggle, the Inquisitor responded, "I gathered that, Cole, thank you."


	2. glittering to gloss a hidden hurt, or: dorian has an anxiety attack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian has an anxiety attack over Bull's affection, and Cole tells Carlos a knock-knock joke to soften the blow of horned giants knocking on his door in the middle of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for a slightly vague flashback of Dorian's attempted blood magic straight conversion therapy. This is kind of short, sorry.

By the time buildings were becoming visible through the thick clouds of sand enveloping the party, the sky had begun to fade from a brilliant red-orange that rivaled the mountains around them to a deep violet. Their shadows wobbled with the unnatural light of Adaar's Mark, the hideous green slashing through his palm and spilling out to shine at their feet. It glared off Bull's leg brace, turned the metallic fabric at the tips of Dorian's robe into an eye-searing horror.

With the rise of the moon, the temperature dropped hard enough to break, and Dorian insisted he could almost see his breath.

"Maker, are you positive that isn't a mirage? It's jumped back at least three times," the necromancer grumbled, pulling his robes around himself more tightly.

Adaar sighed. "Don't be so impatient. I'm sure these researchers don't want to see pissed-off strangers at their doorstep."

"Oh, yes, smiling giants and happy spirits are so much easier to open one's home to. Silly me," he bit back. "Of course, I am the only redeeming member of this party, so I see your point."

Scoffing, the Inquisitor strode ahead to walk with Cole, asking him if he could sense anything about the village. The blond only came back with the musings of the rocks and bugs beneath their feet, which still managed to fascinate the man.

Dorian smiled. He took his attention away from the two and up to the thousands of stars ahead of them -- it really was breathtaking, no matter how many times he saw it. Being so far from the Breach, it was easier to see the clusters of constellations, an endless ceiling of legends and stories that could knock any Chantry stained glass window flat on its ass.

"Playing connect the dots with the sky?"

The necromancer kept himself from jumping at the last second, though of course the former Ben-Hassrath would see the jolt beneath the bored mask he managed to pull back over his face. "It's quite a nice sight," he admitted. "Almost makes up for not being able to feel my toes."

"Yet you complain about the hole in my ceiling every time we're in bed?"

Dorian whipped his eyes ahead to check if Cole or Adaar had heard. The two were neck-deep in some conversation about conversations they'd overheard at Skyhold or some village they'd passed through, Cole giving insight and backstories to each bystander involved. Regardless, the man's heart thrashed against the wall of his chest, frantic, and without realizing, he froze in his steps with the sudden terror that Cole might sense all this.

Adaar wouldn't care, probably knew, probably saw him fumbling with the cracked dragon's tooth he wore at his belt when Bull wasn't with them on some expedition.

Still. The sand was inflating his lungs again, but the storm was cleared, so that couldn't be right -- so where was his air?

"Ka-- Dorian?"

A wheeze.

Ahead, Cole and Adaar stopped, looking back. Cole was mumbling now. Adaar yelled back, asking if they were okay, but Bull just laughed, said the tiny mage was just sick from the storm, said the boss and the ghost child could keep moving and that he and Dorian would catch up.

But that wasn't right either, they would know if Bull was comforting him --

"Dorian. Hey. Look at me."

One single sparkling eye, more overpowering than Chantry windows, than thousands of stars. Another, scratched over and hidden from sight behind a plain black eyepatch, behind it a slight hole and mass of scars that Dorian had seen by candlelight, had counted.

Candle light, flames, incantations, blood spilling and he wasn't sure if it were his, a slave's, or his own father's, but then again, would his father be willing to bleed for him? No, it wasn't for Dorian, it was for himself --

"Dorian."

He looked up again.

"Stay with me. We're at the Western Approach. The Inquisitor is here, we're going to a village, and it will be warm." His hand was massive and hot, hovering over the necromancer's shoulder but not quite touching him, waiting for permission. "Breathe, you're safe."

He coughed again, letting the smell of burnt rashvine flood his nose, a bitter cinnamon scent.

"Dorian?"

"I'm fine--"

"I'm sorry," Bull whispered low to him now.

The sincerity, the pain that the large man let Dorian see, it was worse than the fear of others knowing.

Knowing why Bull, born to a religion and culture where frivolous adornment was frowned on, suddenly took to wearing a dragon's tooth, cut cleanly in half, on a leather strap around his neck. Not even Adaar seemed to fully understand the tradition, either shrugging it off that Bull was embracing his excommunication -- or more likely, just really, really liked dragons.

"I-- I'm sorry..." _Amatus._ It stuck in his throat, at his lips, but he couldn't get it out yet, not _here_.

Bull nodded, seeming to pick it off the tip of his tongue. The squeeze he gave Dorian's shoulder said "kadan," and the heavy clap to his back said "my friend." No -- it still said "kadan," but whispered it without shame, content for the word to just be for the two of them. A balance in Dorian's need for calm, quiet, secrecy, escape from judgment -- and a need to know the fireworks he felt in the chambers of his heart were admired by those around him.

Running his ringed fingers through his hair, Dorian stuck his chin up, entering his stage again. Arguably, he was just as much of a performer as Bull had been in his days as a spy, though for different reasons.

The other two had only kept going a few more meters before waiting for The Iron Bull and Dorian.

"I do hope this dreadful wasteland didn't keep me away from you all too long," Dorian called out. "I lost track of time, I was so very worried about how you all would fare without me to grace your presence."

" _Glittering to gloss a hidden hurt_ ," Cole whispered, eyes wide and digging into Dorian's neck and cheeks. " _Unlearning not to hope for more. Stumbling steps where the wall used to be._ He doesn't know all the words, but wants to yell songs about you. Your heart makes it a war cry, but no one will get hurt by it."

Dorian's chest clenches again, only calming when Bull strides up, taking Cole by the shoulder and asking how much further until the city. Adaar's head was swimming with too many cryptic half-dreams of strangers for this extra quip to click.

Instead, the Inquisitor shrugged, looking into the distance. "Shouldn't be much further now, the lights in their windows are pretty bright."

"Have we been seen, I wonder?" the shorter mage wondered. He had a point. They were very obvious against the flatness of the desert, not to mention the Anchor on Adaar's hand making them too easy to see.

"No," Cole said.

He didn't bother expanding on that.

They walked further, ground becoming harder, more solid beneath their shoes. One of the first buildings they came to was little more than rubble, walls made of clay and broken stone. Ahead, a massive tower sprouted -- just above it, hard to see, was a green speck across the sky. Adaar guessed it could have been a rift, but the only way of knowing would be to find a way to reach it.

Standing in the mouth of the city, they looked across to the center, where a small well stood. The top was boarded over. Most of the buildings looked to be completely demolished or under construction, tin boxes of tools left tucked neatly by doors. One wide wall backed up against a hill, almost carved into it. It had more windows than stone, and all of them were lit up with white light. Dorian could see shelves of half-empty vials in them, but no people.

The Bull stood completely still, intent. Listening. Cole was less secretive about their arrival.

He didn't yell this time, only churned out someone's thoughts. " _So many tests and no answers, different answers, where's the pattern? Everyone's gone to bed, they're tired in their bones and in their minds_ ," he paused, a forlorn look on his face. " _Wistful, wishing, wanting him back here, he doesn't understand the moon as much as he understands space, but it's too much_."

Iron Bull looked down at the rogue. "You could say 'hi' to people before telling everyone their secrets. Or maybe wait for them to show their face, first."

"He's lonely," Cole whined.

"Hopefully that means he'll take our company over our funerals," Dorian said with a sigh. "Where is he? It feels like we're trespassing."

Adaar stepped ahead of the group, making his way to the end of the village, holding a fist out to the door of the building enveloped by the hill. It was too quiet here. Everone had a hand on the hilts of their weapons, ears pricked in case of danger. The Inquisition had enough enemies at this point for caution to be necessary.

The horned mage knocked lightly. Beneath him, Cole wiggled his way to the man's side.

From inside, a few bottles clattered down against a table, then a small voice like rain on tin rang out, "Uh-- who's there?"

Before Adaar could answer, Cole stood on his tip toes, a sudden look of glee on his face. "The Inquistion!"

A long pause.

"... _The Inquisition, who_?"

"That's us!" the blond beamed, giggling.

The door opened.

A stout man in a white coat that dropped nearly to his ankles stood in the threshold, his head a shock of bushy black hair with dusty silver stripes criss-crossing in it. His dark brown nose and cheeks were dotted with freckles. He was smiling, teeth impossibly straight, though it stumbled when he looked up at the massive Tal'Vashoth on his doorstep.

"Good... good joke, uh," he sputtered. "Are _you-_ \- do you need-- something?"

Before the gaunt rogue could yank out the man's fear, the Inquisitor broke in. "We're with the Inquisition. A soldier called Joy told us her army was protecting researchers here."

"Except she didn't look like Joy," Cole said.

Bull nodded. "Yeah, looked more like a _Beth_ to me."

The rogue and the man in the white coat looked up at him with mirror image expressions of complete and utter confusion, blinking almost in perfect sync. Sighing, he shrugged. Not all of them were blessed with Cole's comedic genius, apparently.

Adaar rolled his eyes. "Joy said the researchers here were looking at a light in the sky."

That brought the man back to attention. "Oh! Yeah, we are. I mean, not right now, everyone's asleep, I'm just looking at some samples here."

"All the tests are wrong," Cole said. "None of it lines up. It's not your fault, the desert doesn't want to line up, to do everything the same, that's why the answers aren't there. It isn't your fault."

Slowly, the man asked, "What number am I thinking of?"

Bull shook his head, taking Cole by the shoulders again. "No, don't ask him that, he never guesses the numbers."

"Oh." He smiles again. The gears in his head seem to twist about, then his eyes get wide again. His voice was nearly as flat as the desert, with artificial hills kicked up where he felt they needed to be. "You guys can come in if you want, I just have a few more tests to run."

"Good, it's _freezing_ out here," Dorian groans, pushing past the others to follow the man inside. The walls are a faded yellow, the floors a tanned tile beneath them. Tables stretch out with beakers and trays of plants, rocks, and jars of bugs with too many eyes. A few couches were shoved against a corner, and the mage took his staff, fell against the seat, and layed the weapon against his lap. He hung his head back, sighing with relief.

The rest followed suit, Bull electing to stand while Cole sat on the arm of one of the couches, swinging his feet.

"I'm Adaar, by the way."

"My name is Cole!" the spirit chirped, hat hanging low over his eyes.

A rumbling laugh. "The Iron Bull." He nodded, finally sitting down to take the weight off his knee. The couch creaked beneath him in protest.

The necromancer tipped his chin up to the man. "Dorian, of House Pavus."

"Oh, I'm Carlos! ...Of House, uh, _this one_. Sometimes of other ones."

Dorian chuckled, then let his eyelids droop ever slightly. " _Charmed_." His arms stretched to hold the back of the couch, and he folded one leg over his knee, pulling his body out as if a statue.

Bull glanced over to him, and while he didn't look hurt, it made the mage crumple a little. Flirting on the field was too real now, but this was too much, too.

Not noticing the miniscule exchange, Carlos nodded. "It's good to meet you all! When I'm done with this, we can talk more. Let me know if you need anything." He turned on a heel towards one of the tables, pulling a pair of large goggles over his face with a strap on the back of his head that got lost in the thicket of his hair.

Cole narrated the thoughts of every single tool the man picked up.

When Adaar suggested that announcing one chemical's aversion to being heated might be ruining Carlos's focus, the boy quieted down.


End file.
